“Pepper” by Jasmine Respess

We call things what they are.

Pepper is not
dark speck dust
ash after wildfire.

Pepper is not
subtle pop of spice
freckling flank.

Pepper is not
black afterthought
say when
to
stop.

At our house, Pepper lives
green, red, dried blood brown bubbling
out of glass bottles top the stove.

Pepper courses through
pulse in every pot
our tongues know: hot, deep, full.

Pepper is born of
land, roots, vine raised fruit flourishing
in familial hands.

Pepper is undeclared
tenderly tucked in checked bags
on transatlantic flights.

We name things for where they come from.